


State of Grace

by fadeoutslow



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeoutslow/pseuds/fadeoutslow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heikki's seen him around. Older fic reposted from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	State of Grace

Heikki's seen him, round the paddock, in the weigh-in area, here and there. He's always somewhere, and Heikki watches him, at times. Occasionally he'll look back, always with an amused, disdainful smile curling over his lips. And yet, still, his eyes are warm and bright, just the faintest hint of _interest_ lurking there, somewhere. 

Or perhaps Heikki's just imagining it. He stares back, impassive as he can, keeping his face blank, neutral, staying professional.

He's always professional.

 

It's apparent to Heikki that Seb doesn't like Nico, not at all. Actively _dislikes_ him, in fact, and he doesn't _say_ anything but Heikki knows him, knows his body, the way it reacts, and he can see it, that slight stiffening of the spine, the tightening of the jaw whenever Nico's around.

Heikki doesn't know _why_ , what's gone on between them, and it's not his job to ask, but one day, he sees them. Right before one of the drivers' parades and Nico _looks_ at Seb, gaze narrow and sly as he licks his lips ostentatiously, running one hand through his hair.

Seb doesn't say anything, but his face starts to colour, red spreading across his cheekbones, and he turns away, quickly.

_Ah_ , Heikki thinks, at last understanding. 

He nods to himself, just slightly, and when he looks back, Nico's watching him, patently amused. He gives Heikki a dirty, knowing grin, then winks at him, so fast Heikki barely sees it.

And it's disloyal, he knows, but he allows himself the faintest of smirks back at Nico, snapping his chewing gum before he moves away, checking on Seb.

 

Heikki has a routine on race weekends, not just for Seb, but for himself, and the one thing he always does is this, what he's doing now, a quiet vodka and ice at the hotel bar late on a Saturday night. He sits alone, sipping, making it last just long enough to get his head in order, his thoughts to where they need to be. Seb's down for the count, won't be calling on him again till early tomorrow, but it will be race day, as demanding and stressful as ever, and Heikki needs to be prepared. 

Sometimes, people hit on him, try and chat, strike up a conversation, but Heikki's well-practiced in the art of Finnish reserve, knows exactly how to deter any attempt at friendliness.

Like now, staring resolutely ahead as a blonde guy sits down next to him. The man doesn't say anything, and it takes Heikki a minute or two to realise it's actually _him_ , that it's Nico.

And Heikki doesn't acknowledge him, not yet, waiting until he's finally finished his drink before he turns towards him, and says, evenly, "Can I help you?"

Nico smiles at him. "Hi," he says, ignoring the question, instead asking one of his own. "Can I buy you another drink?"

"No, thank you," Heikki answers. And he probably sounds too abrupt, he knows, so he adds, "Not with the race tomorrow."

"Ah, the _race_ ," says Nico. "Got to look after Seb, right?"

"Yes."

Nico puts his bent elbow on the bar, props his head on his hand, looks up at Heikki from under his eyelashes, which, Heikki notes, are very long and very full. "You do a good job," Nico says. " _Looking after_ Seb."

The emphasis makes it plain what he means, but Heikki only replies, "Thank you."

"He needs someone to look to after him."

"Yes," Heikki says, and he gets the feeling that Nico could do this all night, this back and forth, coy, flirtatious banter and it's charming enough, but Heikki has other things he'd rather be doing. "Do you want to come upstairs?" he asks.

"I don't know." Nico smirks at him, not missing a beat. "Do you have your own room, or do you sleep with Seb?"

Heikki lets the corner of his mouth turn up, just enough. "I don't _sleep_ with him, no," he says, and Nico raises his eyebrows, grins.

"Okay," he says. "Let's go, then."

 

In the elevator on the way up, neither of them speak. Nico leans casually against the side wall, hands behind his back, making show of looking Heikki up and down. Heikki stares up at the floor display, watching the numbers ascend, and if he flexes his bicep, just a little, on the arm facing Nico, well, who could blame him?

 

When the door of the room closes behind them, Heikki grabs Nico's wrists, pushing him up against the wall and pinning them over his head, kissing him, softly.

"Don't," Nico says, perfectly calm.

"What?" Heikki pulls back, confused.

Nico nods up, at his hands, still held tight.

"Oh," says Heikki, "sorry." He releases Nico, and it's strange, because that's _always_ what people want from him, to be held down, to be fucked roughly with him looming over them. It's his size, he supposes, the way he looks, but over the years he's grown used to it. "What do you want?" he asks, curious now.

Nico looks at him, serious. "I want to fuck you," he says. "Would that be okay?"

Heikki can barely even remember the last time that happened, when someone fucked _him_ instead of the other way round. But he remembers liking it, the way it felt.

"Yes," he says, nodding, slowly. "That would be okay."

 

And it's more than okay, as it turns out. Because Nico knows exactly what he's doing, licking Heikki's ass till he's moaning, low with pleasure, while skilled, patient fingers open him up. To _everything_ it seems, because then there's _this_ , Nico's surprisingly big cock inside him, a slow, aching fuck that leaves Heikki clawing at the sheets.

"Seb's room is next door, isn't it?" Nico says, words punctuated by thrusts.

"Yes," Heikki hisses out.

"Do you think he can hear us?"

"No." Heikki knows how soundly Seb sleeps.

"What if I made you scream?"

"I don't scream."

"What if he came in," says Nico, "what if he saw you like this, with my cock in your ass, getting fucked. I bet he doesn't know that you like it like this, I bet he thinks you're some big fucking top. What do you think he'd say, if he saw you taking it, lapping it up? What would he _think_?"

Heikki closes his eyes, says, "Shut the fuck up."

And Nico only laughs.

 

After, Heikki lies on the bed, hands behind his head, legs spread wide.

Nico's dressing himself, walking around the room, picking up his scattered clothes.

When he's done, he says, "Maybe we could do this again."

"Maybe." Heikki tries to sound as uninterested, as noncommittal as he can. Because this was _good_ , way too good, and Heikki can't have his loyalties compromised, not like this, can't even take the chance. "Good luck tomorrow," he says, "in the race."

"Sure," says Nico. "But Seb always wins, right?" There's enough of an edge to his voice that it's clear he understands.

"Yes," Heikki says, and he smiles, trying to be kind but aware he's probably only making it worse, for both of them. "He always does."


End file.
